Ceila’s remorse floods her with a crushing, breath-stealing intensity the moment the truth detonates in her mind, unraveling every assumption she clung to, every harsh word she hurled, and every reckless decision that led her to threaten April and hand her straight into Ray’s waiting grasp, never realizing she was delivering her own daughter into danger, and the horror of that revelation gnaws at her with a relentless, merciless rhythm as she replays their every interaction, seeing now what she was too blinded by desperation to recognize: the familiar tilt of April’s expression, the stubborn spark in her eyes, the quiet resilience that mirrored Ceila’s own youthful defiance, all the signs she should have recognized if she hadn’t been swallowed by fear and convinced that the universe would never grant her the miracle of finding the child she had lost so long ago. The weight of her actions crushes her chest until it aches, until she can hardly breathe under the pressure of imagining April’s terror as she was dragged away, the betrayal she must have felt as Ceila—the woman who should have protected her above all others—became the architect of her suffering, and that single thought spirals Ceila into an abyss of guilt so deep she wonders whether she even deserves to live after what she’s done. Every memory of her search flickers through her mind like cruel irony: the nights spent staring at old photographs, the quiet birthdays spent whispering wishes into the darkness, the prayers to every star she could find begging for just one chance to reunite with her daughter, and the countless moments when she promised herself she would know her child the second she saw her, that her heart would recognize what her eyes couldn’t, yet when fate finally placed April in front of her, Ceila looked straight at her daughter and saw only a threat, a problem, an obstacle she could exploit, never knowing she was cutting into her own flesh with every choice she made. The world around her feels warped now, unsteady, as if the ground itself is rejecting her, and she staggers through the realization that she failed April in the worst way possible not because she lacked love but because she lacked awareness, and that truth slices deeper than any blade Ray could wield. She imagines April’s life—every struggle, every triumph, every hidden fear—and wonders where she was during those defining moments, wonders how many times April must have wished for someone like her, someone who cared, someone who would fight for her, and instead of arriving as the mother she longed for, Ceila appeared as a threat, a woman wrapped in anger and desperation who pushed her into the arms of a predator. The shame of it sinks into Ceila’s bones, burning through her with a feverish heat that leaves her trembling as she grips her own arms tightly, as if trying to hold herself together while her soul fractures under the weight of her mistakes, and she whispers apologies into the empty air, apologies that feel too small, too fragile, too late to even matter. Her mind whirls with what-ifs—what if she’d paused long enough to listen, what if she’d looked April in the eye without suspicion clouding her judgment, what if she had trusted her instincts rather than her fears, what if she’d allowed herself to believe that her daughter might not be lost forever—and every what-if becomes a dagger twisting deeper into her conscience. She knows she cannot undo what she’s done, cannot erase the terror April must be feeling, cannot take back the betrayal that will surely shatter whatever fragile bond they might have formed, but she also knows she cannot stand still, cannot drown in her own guilt while her daughter is in Ray’s hands, and the mix of regret and determination fuels a desperate resolve that ignites inside her like a wildfire. She vows to drag April out of danger with her own two hands, vows to tear down anyone who stands in her way, vows to earn at least the right to face her daughter again even if forgiveness is a dream she will never reach, because she knows April might never call her mother, might never look at her without flinching, but Ceila refuses to abandon her again, refuses to let her last memory be of betrayal and fear. The road to redemption feels impossibly steep, a mountain carved from sharp edges and painful truths, yet Ceila forces herself to take the first step, driven by a mix of love, guilt, and the fierce maternal instinct that finally burned through her blindness, and as she moves, the weight of her remorse stays with her, heavy and constant, reminding her that this time she cannot afford a single mistake. She will confront Ray, she will rescue April, and she will face whatever judgment her daughter chooses to deliver, because even if April never forgives her, even if her own heart shatters beyond repair, Ceila knows one truth with absolute certainty: she may have failed her daughter at the moment it mattered most, but she will not fail her again, and she will spend every breath left in her body fighting to prove it, even if redemption remains just out of reach.